The Barker's Dozen - Reminiscences of an Early Police Dog (38 page)

‘Truth to tell, I dropped into the
Inn on my way back from court and had a few pints of cider because giving evidence always upsets me. After a while, I went home and later that evening realised I had forgotten the gun. I returned to the inn but there was no sign of it.’

‘You of course asked the innkeeper if he had seen it and then told Lord Ballard that it had been mislaid?’

‘No, Inspector, I was very embarrassed and didn’t want anyone else to know.’

My master stood for a while as if lost in thought while some of the more helpful villagers offered advice as to the gamekeeper’s veracity. After a while, my master once more looked up at the villain.

‘What you are saying, Jackson, is that someone stole the gun, waited more than six months and then shot down Benjamin Fleming, shooting from a place of concealment.  Once the murder had been committed, the killer paused to hide the murder weapon and carried the body through a dark wood, back to the kennels. Once there, he rigged a complex device to make the death look like suicide?’

‘Exactly Inspector, it is the only reasonable explanation.’

‘It just will not do, Jackson, as it doesn’t explain the dogs.’

‘What about the dogs?’ the gamekeeper sounded rather surprised by the question.

‘They did not bark last night; if they had someone would have come down to see what the fuss was about.’

‘Maybe they were all asleep.’

‘Thirty Spaniels would not all sleep through someone carrying a bloody corpse through a kennel yard. Once one barks, they all start.’ My master waited for a few minutes but when it became obvious that no response would be forthcoming he continued, ‘the reason they did not bark is quite simple. They knew the visitor and it was someone who had every right to be in the stable yard late at night. If you also accept that the dogs were not panicked by the smell of blood I think that you will agree that it narrows the field of possible suspects down to only one real possibility: a gamekeeper.

‘
Jackson, why did you kill Benjamin Fleming?’

The gamekeeper blustered for a few more minutes trying to find another believable scenario. Each time he said something my master repeated his question ‘
Jackson, why did you kill Benjamin Fleming?’

‘Because I had to, Inspector, I had no choice!’ Eventually
Jackson broke and we could all hear the raw emotion in his voice as he almost screamed out these words, words that would inevitably convict him.

‘Tell me why you believed that you had to kill Ben?’ my master asked with genuine sympathy.

‘He was due to get married this summer and Lord Ballard had promised that he and his bride would have a larger house. I was pleased for them because they were a pleasant couple though I must admit that I was a bit jealous of him, having tried my luck with Miss Cooper. Only last week I was told that they were going to be given my house. I refused to believe it and told my informer that he was wrong as my house always went with the Head Gamekeeper’s position. My informant laughed pityingly and said that he was surprised I hadn’t heard. I asked him what he meant and I was shattered to find that I was to be dismissed and Ben was to have my job along with my home.

‘Something had to be done, Inspector, and I spent a long night worrying before I realised that a dead man could not be given my job. I thought about how I could kill him and get away with it. A simple accident seemed to be far too likely to attract suspicion, so I decided that Ben should kill himself. I thought that if I made his death particularly horrible it would increase the times I could legitimately comfort
Elizabeth.’

‘
Jackson, who ever told you that was lying.’ There was a deep anguish in Lord Ballard’s voice, ‘you know I would never treat a good man so badly.’

‘Don’t lie to me now, your lordship,’
Jackson shouted back. ‘Your own son told me about your plans.’

‘He was lying, I think you have been the victim of a damn cruel joke,’ Lord Ballard said with a deep and sincere sorrow. As he spoke he brought one hand up to his chest as if clutching at a sudden pain.’

There was something in the noble man’s voice and bearing that showed Jackson that Lord Ballard was telling him the truth.

‘I’ve killed a friend and destroyed my life on the strength of your spoilt boy’s joke,’
Jackson shouted his voice reflecting the insane horror of his revelation. He turned away from us and we could see that he was doing something. There was a faint click and I realised that he had reloaded his empty barrel.

‘
Jackson, you have nothing to gain by continuing this folly, come down and I know you will be treated fairly,’ Lord Ballard shouted up to him. ‘My son’s irresponsibility led you into this mess and I will engage the finest barrister to defend you in court.’

‘I have no doubt you would my Lord,’
Jackson’s voice had a strange flat quality that I did not like. ‘He would ensure that the law was perfectly followed and perhaps delay my execution by a few days.

‘I have a better idea my Lord, why don’t you see if your money can make things right for the Tanners? Your son planted these seeds of grief and it is only right there should be a final harvest. I’m going to blow Sally’s pretty head clean off and then I’ll do the same for myself.’

He laughed a strange bitter sound and turned once more towards the centre of the roof. A scream told us that the young woman could see her death in his actions.  As he brought the gun to his shoulder, he half sat in the embrasure probably to relieve the pain in his injured leg. He turned slightly obviously aiming his gun at his hysterical victim and suddenly unexpectedly jerked backwards, as he shifted the shotgun discharged and he slowly toppled backwards off the tower and fell silently to his death below.

Looking up we could see the head and shoulders of a dog, who started barking at the crowd below.

Naturally, there was a lot of confused running around before we managed to get order restored and it was several hours before Sally Tanner calmed down enough to tell us what had happened right at the end.

She had seen
Jackson turn, her death written on his face, and had started to scream for mercy. He had smiled and shifted his aim so that she could see the moonlight glinting off the inside of the barrel. She was lost and watched hopelessly as he held his breath and started tightening his finger. At that precise moment, Pepper had shot out of the stairwell, and leapt up at the gamekeeper’s chest. The force of the impact had knocked Jackson backwards so that when the gun discharged the shot cloud had passed harmlessly over Mrs Tanner’s head. Either the original impact or the gun’s recoil pushed Jackson past the point of no return and his body had followed his mind to destruction.

-----

‘So that is Pepper’s story,’ Snuffles said raising his head from his paws. ‘Now come along and meet him. Then if you are feeling generous you could take him down to the small pond for a swim.’

‘Of course I will Snuffles, if you will just clear up two loose ends for me. What happened to Vasio and how did Pepper end up at Arlesford?’

‘Lord Ballard decided that he had tolerated his son’s behaviour for far too long. He has been given an allowance provided he lives abroad.’

‘A remittance man,’ I said delightedly.

‘We were just about to leave Winterbourne Somer when Lord Ballard approached your uncle with Pepper on a lead and asked him to give the dog to the General. My master naturally asked why he wanted to part with such a good dog. His Lordship smiled and said there were two basic reasons. Firstly,
Jackson had been very popular in the village and it was more than likely that some angry villager would take revenge on the dog.’

‘And?’ I asked when Snuffles was silent for a few moments.

My friend glared at me before continuing, ‘and secondly Lord Ballard said that having seen me it was obvious that the Arlesford Spaniels needed some fresh blood.’

An extract from the journal of Miss Isobel Fraser, written for her sister, Lucy, in
Boston.

Saturday Morning – Arlesford House

I awoke earlier than normal to the sound of an outraged bellow followed by sounds of a short but loud conversation that was just too far away for me to hear what was being said. After a minute or two when peace descended on the house again, the silence was itself almost as disturbing as the earlier noise. I rolled over again and wondered if this was what Shakespeare meant by ‘divers alarums and excursions.’

I had just started to doze off when there was another loud and angry exclamation from outside the house. Although I could not make out what was being shouted, I thought I recognised the General’s voice. Curiosity forced me to rise and having wrapped my robe around me I crossed to the window and looked out onto a cold, misty dawn.

The General was standing by the entrance to the maze in loud and voluble conversation with the head gardener and one of his assistants. The General must have come straight from his bed because he was wearing a dressing gown with his feet in casual slippers.  His hair, disordered from the night’s sleep, stood out from his head, the early morning sun catching it making him look like an angry, medieval abbot.

As I watched, Richard and James walked into my sight and crossed to the General. They were accompanied, as ever, by Snuffles who walked quietly by his master’s knee. Although the two men were also wearing their dressing gowns, it was apparent that the Inspector and his dog were working. After some conversation, the five men turned and walked into the maze.

Lucy, it was obvious that some crime had been committed in the maze, although what it could be I could not fathom. I craned my head but could not see exactly where they were heading although I thought it was towards the section of the maze dedicated to the Rear Admiral’s years as a captain.

Turning away from the window, I made a hurried toilette. In less than ten minutes, I was strolling fully attired into the maze. It was not hard to find the men as their tracks showed clearly in the dew-laden grass and I could hear the buzz of annoyed conversation coming from one of the arbours.

Knowing the great gallantry of the Thompson men and being sensible of the fact that they would want to shield me, as a woman, from any unpleasantness I called out a greeting before a final turn of the maze would bring me into the arbour with them.

‘Mornin’ Isobel,’ The General replied in a semi-bellow. ‘Come on in.  There’s been a bit of mischief in the night.’

I went into the arbour, and stopped with amazement. The octagonal flagstone that bears the picture of one of the Rear Admiral’s ships, in this case H.M.S. Indomitable, a sixty-four gun ship, had been torn up and cast to one side. Where the stone had been set there was a large hole easily five feet deep and about seven feet across. I looked at the hole but could not see any logical reason for anyone to spend a large proportion of the night engaged in such a pointless activity.

Richard walked round the pit and looked carefully at it from all sides, then left the arbour and walked a few yards back along the path before returning carefully scrutinising the ground. The General started to say something but Richard raised his hand in a peremptory gesture for silence before kneeling and examining the earth that had been removed from the hole.

‘Well Richard, what do you make of it?’ the old man asked as his son stood up.

‘It appears that someone has dug a hole,’ the great detective replied with a straight face.

‘A hole!’ the General bellowed. ‘Any blasted idiot can see that someone has dug a hole. What ruddy use is it having a detective in the family if all he does is point out that someone has dug a hole?’

‘To be a bit more precise,’ Richard replied, laughing gently. ‘Two men actually dug the hole while a third person, probably a young lad waited in the maze proper. This third person was probably acting as a lookout.’

‘How do you work that out?’ the General snarled, obviously annoyed by his son’s rather flippant attitude.

‘Simple really,’ Richard said pointing into the hole. ‘You can see from the marks that two spades of differing widths were used to dig the hole. Where the lookout stood someone has spent some time idly bending yew trigs in the hedge. The damage is slightly lower than I would have expected.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Only that I think that they must be local and have some idea of the layout of the estate.’ Richard looked round and rubbed his hands together before continuing. ‘I think that you can ask Davies here to repair the damage.’

The General turned to the head gardener and told him to start the repairs. He then suggested that we met for breakfast in half an hour so that we could discuss the matter further.

Having already dressed for the day I spent the time before breakfast walking Snuffles and three of the house pack round the lake.

Breakfast at Arlesford normally obeys an etiquette that James tells me is common in Officers’ messes in this country. The meal is eaten in complete silence except for soft voiced exchanges between a servant and guest. The loudest noise is the rustle of newspaper and the occasional ‘harrumph’ whenever the General reads anything that annoys him, which is quite frequent.

This morning the four of us entered the breakfast room before anyone else and after a few courtesies the General dispensed with his normal conventions.

‘What do you make of this outrage, Richard?’ The old man emphasised his question by rapping the table with his knife.

‘I must admit that when my man woke me and said there was a big hole in the maze I thought that it was one of those idiot Spaniels again.’ Richard paused while one of the servants filled his teacup.  ‘It seems to be a remarkably pointless piece of vandalism. I wonder if you have upset any of the locals recently?’

‘Not more than any other landowner and much less than some I’d wager.’

‘How about your recent changes to the village? Perhaps you have inadvertently destroyed part of someone’s garden and they decided to ruin your maze in return?’ James asked thoughtfully, ‘we all know that the common soldier can get very heated over his presumed rights and I doubt that the average villager is any better.’

‘I was careful when I started rebuilding the village although I own all of it,’ the General frowned slightly. ‘I made sure that my estate manager discussed my intentions with every family and where there were reasonable objections we altered the plans accordingly. You could be right though, James and I will have your suggestion checked.’

I was aware that one of the maids was hovering as if she wanted to speak but was afraid of the consequences if she ventured an opinion. She picked up an empty tray and turned towards the door. I sighed with relief because I did not think that the General was in a mood to be told that his improvements had ruined her Grandpa’s turnips or whatever. I was, therefore, quite shocked when she loudly put the tray back on the sideboard and, turning to face the General, softly interrupted the conversation.

‘It’s not that at all, Sir, if you’ll pardon my saying. I think that someone has finally decided to find the Arlesford Treasure.’

‘The Arlesford what?’ the General bellowed again, the girl paled slightly and took a step back.

‘The treasure, Sir,’ she said, her voice firmer now that she was committed. ‘You know the one, Sir. Your Father took it from the Spanish and buried it in the maze.’

‘Young Lady, that is the most preposterous thing I have heard,’ the General was starting to become rather red in the face so Richard, leaning forward, whispered to his father ‘allow me’ and turned to the girl.

‘You are Mary Birch are you not?’ Richard asked in a very calm and pleasant voice. ‘You normally live in the village but stay in the house when extra servants are needed?’

‘I am and I do, Sir,’ the girl relaxed as she responded to the polite, calm questions.

‘As you will doubtless gather, we have absolutely no idea what you are talking about and I think that we would all appreciate it if you would explain further.’

‘You might not know, Sir, but if you were to ask anyone in the village they would all tell you that the Admiral’s Spanish gold is hidden in the maze. I don’t think many of them would believe that none of you were aware of the secret.’

‘Why do people in the village believe that there is treasure buried in the maze?’ Richard kept his voice pleasant but I could see a tightening of the skin round his eyes that made me think that he too was starting to become angry.

‘As if you don’t know!’ The girl was starting to sound rather haughty as if she was in some way morally superior to us all. ‘Some of us have Grandfathers too and some of they remember about the night the treasure arrived. The Admiral may have thought he was clever having his ill-gotten gains rowed to the house in the dead of night, but he forgot all about the poachers. You look startled, yes poachers, men you call criminal and yet who saw a greater crime...’

‘Be quiet, girl!’ Richard’s voice cracked like a whip stopping the maid in the middle of what was fast becoming a rant. ‘Please remember to whom you are speaking.’

‘I beg your pardon, Sir,’ the girl said in a small contrite voice. ‘I don’t know what came over me then, really I don’t.’

‘About this treasure Mary, please tell us the story and we will all forget any recent unpleasantness.’ 

‘Thank you, Sir. The story is quite simple really. It all happened back when the Admiral’s father was still alive and the Admiral himself was just a Captain, must be a hundred years or so by now. One of the Admiral’s ships anchored off the mouth of the Arle and three boats were rowed up river one night. When they reached the House a crew of sailors unloaded some heavy boxes, which were carried into the house, all secret like.

‘Some few years later the Admiral gave up the sea and came back to Arlesford. Once the new master was in residence things started to change, the Admiral spent a king’s ransom as he rebuilt the house and laid out new gardens. Nobody minded as there was plenty of work and some of the wealth of the House passed into the village.

‘There were some who were curious about the change in fortunes that allowed the Admiral to afford all these improvements. It wasn’t long before someone remembered the chests that were quietly rowed up the river. A few years later, one of the Admiral’s old sailors just happened to visit a relative in the area. One evening, he got rather drunk in the inn and told an amazing tale.

‘He was serving with the then Captain Thompson who had been ordered back to England from the West Indies. Half way across the Atlantic, they came across a Spanish galleon, chased it down and captured it. The ship was crammed with chests full of gold and jewels, tons of treasure. Now Captain Thompson was a poor man and although he knew that he would receive a lot of prize money, he decided that he could also take a few crates for himself.

‘For a while this treasure was hidden in the House’s cellars but after a while the Admiral became worried that someone else would learn of his treasure, so one night he had it moved and buried in the maze.’

‘Poppycock! Absolute and utter poppycock!’ The General bellowed.

‘Deny it all you like, but it doesn’t change the truth of it one bit,’ the girl replied with spirit. ‘The proofs are all around you. It was Spanish money so the Admiral started breeding Spanish dogs.’

The General had turned an interesting colour and was banging his fist on the table. The girl looked at him with some concern before Richard caught her attention.

‘Thank you for telling us that interesting story,’ he spoke pleasantly to the girl. ‘I think, however, that you should return to your duties before you say something that my Father cannot ignore.’

Having been dismissed the girl left the room quickly and as the door closed, the General raised his head and let loose a howl of delighted laughter.

‘The whole tale is built on a few unrelated coincidences and the words of a paid off sailor who obviously found a way of getting free drinks.’ The General gasped as he controlled himself with some difficulty. ‘Why now, if they’ve had this fanciful tale for eighty years or so, why now?’

‘Eighty years?’ I asked mightily intrigued by this tale and hoping, rather perversely I'll admit, that there was treasure somewhere.

‘Isobel, all this happened a few years before I was born,’ the General smiled at me in a conspiratorial fashion and lowered his voice. ‘My father’s last posting was the India Station. As he came up the channel he anchored off the mouth of the Arle and had most of his dunnage rowed ashore. The boats stopped near the village because of the weir and his luggage was carted to the house.’

‘I know why this has come to a head now.’ James paused until he had everyone’s attention. ‘When you started improving the village you had the church renovated and a fine new marble monument erected on the Admiral’s tomb!’

‘Yes, but what of it?’ I asked.

‘The boy’s right,’ the General said approvingly. ‘On one end of the monument there is a list of the ships my Father served on while at the other end there is a list of the places he served, both lists are abundantly blessed with dates.’

‘So all someone had to do was compare the lists and see which ships your father served on in the
West Indies?’